


We are All Buildings with People Inside

by stardropdream (orphan_account)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, F/M, M/M, Public Sex, Sexual Content, Sexual Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-02-24
Packaged: 2017-12-03 10:50:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/697461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The point is to break the enemy before the enemy breaks you. Or maybe Alfred just wanted the attention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We are All Buildings with People Inside

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LJ August 26, 2012.

“I’ve told you… I really don’t want to do this,” Alfred mutters. But no one is really listening, anyway. People have learned how to drown him out. If he says something they don’t like, better to pretend he didn’t say it at all – no one wants the personification of their country to sound like a fool or a coward, after all.   
  
He starts whistling because what else can he do? It starts out as a Frank Sinatra tune but eventually mutates into some kind of Disney song. He drums his fingers on the table and eyes the red phone with some trepidation. The direct line. Russia’s on the other end of the telephone wire. It’s kind of creepy to think about.   
  
“America, stop that noise,” his boss says and Alfred stops immediately, frowning (definitely not pouting – that’s too unheroic!).   
  
“I really don’t think this is a good idea,” Alfred says again, now that he’s gotten some attention. “I mean, I’m all for fighting fire with fire, but…”  
  
“Do you want the enemy to win?” one of the president’s advisors bursts out, then seems to remember with whom he’s speaking, slumping with defeat and murmuring a quiet apology into his paperwork.  
  
“Well, I don’t. Obviously,” Alfred says, feeling a touch annoyed at the implication of indifference. “I just don’t know if this is the best way to…”  
  
“War isn’t about soldiers anymore, America. It’s time you learned that. There’s a certain level of strategy that needs to take place. We don’t know if or when the Soviets will strike us, so the best thing we can do is demoralize them while we still can.”  
  
“By manipulating the satellite nations,” Alfred says, frowning, not even close to approving.  
  
“His sisters, at least, yes,” the staff continues, passing along the gauntlet of Convincing America to Do Questionable Things. “It’s the best thing that we can come up with. What’s the worst that can happen?”  
  
Alfred gives him A Look. “Um. Well. Russia could go batshit over me fucking around with his _sisters_?” A thought occurs to him and he pales. “What if _he_ starts fucking around with Mattie? Or Arthur? All because I started it.”  
  
“Then you do it before he does. I guarantee you they won’t let Russia hesitate, once they think of the idea. If they haven’t already.”  
  
Alfred frowns, staring down at his hands and then glancing at the red phone to Russia.  
  
  
\---  
  
  
She opens the door, cautiously. He doesn’t know what he expected – it’s been years since he last saw her – but she looks too thin. Her eyes widen when she sees him and she closes the door a little, instinctively, cowering behind it. Her eyes dart around, as if expecting some kind of sneak attack at any moment, even though he’s standing right there.  
  
“A- America!”   
  
“Hi, Ukraine,” he says, already feeling awful about the entire situation already – and yet he was still here, doing it. “Can I come in?”  
  
Something flickers in her expression, like she wants to say yes – hope. But it’s gone in a flash and she averts her eyes, shaking her head.  
  
“I… I can’t.”  
  
“Hey, it’s okay. If you don’t tell your brother, I definitely won’t.” He sounds more confident than he feels. He’s knee-deep in the shitter, frankly, deep inside the iron curtain. He feels like he’s going to be jumped at any moment. That everything is going to explore around him. If he fails, he’s a country who went rogue. The US government has nothing to do with any of this. That thought is not comforting.   
  
She hesitates, afraid. Like it’s a trap. (It is a trap, he thinks, just not the kind she suspects.)  
  
She steps back, opening the door for him. He steps inside. The rooms are bare, she is bare, everything is bare.  
  
She smiles at him. He tries to smile back, but he’s a bundle of nerves. He can’t stand it. He can’t stand this.  
  
“So… what brings you here?” she asks, slowly, hands folded together behind her back. She’s looking at him with big wide eyes. Like she’s going to cry.  
  
“Well,” he says and then pauses, licking his lips. “I thought that… I could help you.”   
  
She tenses up and takes a step back, not looking at him. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t need help…”  
  
“Yes, you do. You know exactly what I mean.”  
  
“But I don’t need help. I’m very happy.”  
  
“Really.”   
  
She says nothing. She is silent, doing her best not to look at him, doing her best not to look hopeful. Hope is a painful emotion to have, Alfred thinks, already feeling like scum, the lowest of the low.  
  
He coughs a little, trying to sound more confident than he really is. “I can save you from this. But you need to want it.”  
  
She flickers her gaze to his. He can see her longing.  
  
“Being under your brother’s fist… it can’t be easy. For you or for your people.”  
  
He watches the tension rise in her shoulders. He doesn’t even know the pain she must be feeling, have felt these past years. He realizes he hasn’t been paying so much attention to her – focused so entirely on her brother. But, surely, there is no way she can be happy. Right? He takes a step closer and she breathes in sharply.  
  
She turns to look up at him. “You’d take me away from this? You’d let me know the rest of Europe?”  
  
She can’t hide the hope now. She’s brimming with it, she’s yearning for it – she’s trembling for it.   
  
“Yes,” he says, and he hopes he isn’t lying. Maybe, after he defeats Russia, he can help Ukraine. But immediate rescue just isn’t possible. He really is scum.  
  
She breathes in and then breathes out. Again. Again. Her eyes close, and he wonders what she sees – what she hopes for, what she longs for.  
  
She swallows. “What would I have to do? For that…”  
  
He smiles. “I’m sure we can think of something.”  
  
  
\---  
  
  
She cries out softly as he thrusts his cock between her breasts. He’s straddling her stomach, thrusting back and forth as she squeezes her breasts against him. The friction is amazing and they’re slick with sweat as he fingers her, flicking at her clit and sliding his fingers inside with unbearable slowness. She cries out with quiet desperation, arching up towards him. Her hair falls in her eyes. He thrusts harder.  
  
She’s loud, louder than he’d expected. Each movement of his cock or fingertips is punctuated by a quiet mewl, a moan, a gasp, a sharp purr. It’s almost addictive. He pushes two fingers inside her, watches her moan softly and arch up.  
  
He slows his thrusts down when he feels he’s going to come. He waits until he feels her tensing up beneath him and then jerking her hips upward in a frenzied half-gasp. He thrusts between her breasts a couple more times before he comes, spilling his seed over her chest and collarbone, a little bit splashing up onto her chin. She’s panting, hands gripping to him tightly, once he’s done.   
  
She sighs out, relaxing against the floor, her body shiny with sweat and cum, her hair clinging to her forehead. And then she smiles. Her hand touches his face and it’s surprisingly tender.  
  
She thinks he’s going to save her. His stomach turns at the thought. Really, he’s just using her .   
  
He waits for nightfall to slip out. He hopes she’s asleep as he dresses. Instead, her hand touches his elbow. He jumps in surprise.  
  
She, in turn, doesn’t seem surprised. Her eyes are shiny in the moonlight. “You will… come back for me, yes?”  
  
He watches her a moment. Can’t stomach the answer so he gives a jerky little nod.  
  
“Yeah.” He sounds disbelieving even to his own ears.  
  
She nods her head a little and closes her yes, letting him leave in peace. In that moment, her eyes looked too sad and he wishes he could make them open again, wishes he could give her back that hope. She stays, pieces. Not even a person. Just a means to an end. He leaves.  
  
Some hero.   
  
  
\---  
  
  
Belarus slams the door open and leans against the doorframe, looking at him with a deep, calculated frown. He doesn’t even have the chance to knock. Obviously she saw him approaching, and she does not look too happy about it. He feels himself tense up.   
  
“You make my sister cry,” she says, dryly. Like she’s discussing the weather. Weather she wants to stab, at least.  
  
“Um.”  
  
“If you’re here for promises of freedom, it will do you no good. I am not interested.” She leans against the doorframe still, casual anger sketched across her face. “I will not cry like my sister, who is too kind-hearted for the likes of _you._ ”   
  
“I wasn’t going to off freedom,” Alfred says with a frown, thinking fast. “I know you’re too devoted to Russia to want something like that. He must give you a lot of attention for it.”  
  
He sees her eyes flicker, just for a moment. It’s enough.  
  
“Brother runs,” is all she says. “Very busy.”  
  
“Oh, of course,” Alfred agrees with a nod. “I’m sure he takes your support for granted.”  
  
She narrows her eyes. “What do you want, America?”  
  
“Only to help you make your brother realize how much he should value you,” he says, trying to sound casual.  
  
“Explain,” she says, cross.  
  
“If he knows you’ve been with me, won’t he want to keep you close? Nothing makes someone more devoted then a little bit of jealousy, right? I’m sure you know that – you must hate it when he’s paying attention to me over you.”   
  
Her eyes narrow. Alfred knows he’s won. He smiles, trying to look casual and innocent. He knows he’s won.   
  
Her eyes narrow further. “What? You will lie with me and leave me to cry like Sister?”  
  
“Belarus,” he says with a shake of his head and a small smile. “I know you won’t cry.”  
  
She arches her brow.   
  
  
\---  
  
  
He bites back a gasp as she rubs against him, slick folds sliding against his cock without letting him push in. She’s holding him down, moving her hips so that she just slides against him – cock against her folds, against her thighs. It’s torture. His body is tense against the tension of the little space between her thighs.   
  
He feels guilty. Maybe less so than with Ukraine, but Belarus is a means to an end, as well.   
  
But he doesn’t stop. He jerks his hips up, the friction too great and at the same time not enough, longing for that penetration. He lifts his hands, cupping her breasts and squeezing.  
  
She’s strangely quiet as she moves, hair falling in her face, spilling over one shoulder and pooling against his heaving stomach.  
  
“Shit,” he curses quietly, squeezing her breasts.  
  
“You Americans are so loud,” she drawls out slowly.   
  
She closes her eye as she moves, tilting her head to the side. One hand braced against his hip lifts, fisting around his cock and stroking in time to the slick wetness. She circles her hips, his cockhead rubbing against her clit. Her eyes stay shut, her breathing rapid. She bites at her lip.  
  
And then she’s bucking her hips up, coming with only a quiet gasp to mark its passing. He bites at his own lip, thrusting his hips up a little.  
  
She takes a long moment to obey his request, and he almost begs. But she strokes him steadily and, after a few minutes, he comes onto her hand, some strands landing against her stomach.  
  
He breathes out, relaxing.  
  
She watches him. “It might not work.”   
  
“What?” he asks, adjusting his glasses against his sweaty face.  
  
“Perhaps Brother will learn from this,” she says, calm, face smooth like porcelain – unsympathetic, unrepentant. “Or he will only be angry. He will take that anger out towards Sister and me.”  
  
Alfred stares at her.  
  
She looks at him, calmly. “Will you care when that happens?”  
  
He swallows thickly. “If, you mean. And it won’t happen like that.”  
  
“If or when. It is still a possibility, isn’t it?” she asks. Her face is calm, betraying nothing. Perhaps she thought about this before Alfred ever showed up on her doorstep, and now Alfred feels the bottom dropping away from his stomach.   
  
“It won’t happen like that,” he repeats, trying to make himself believe that.  
  
She closes her eyes and does not respond.   
  
  
\---  
  
  
He’s stuck behind the iron curtain – desperate for his checkpoint, desperate to get home. Get out. Get away. Warn Arthur and Matthew. He’s completed what he set out to do. So now it’s time for him to return home. He’s waiting for the CIA agents, but he’s too early. He just wants to leave. It’s so dark and cold here.   
  
If he were one to have the fear of God sprung into him, this would be a good moment for it.  
  
He tries to steady his breathing. It’s night. He needs to be alert. He’s searching.   
  
He thinks he feels a hand grab at his shoulder and he slams himself against the wall in an alley. He tenses up in shock, prepared to fight off whomever is there.  
  
No one is there.  
  
He blinks his eyes open wide, searching. Nothing is there. He’s being paranoid. He breathes out a sigh, making himself relax. He tries to steady his breathing again. He hates the darkness.  
  
He lets out a dry little laugh, hand through his hair. He really is on edge, but he has every reason to be. He really needs to just relax – he’ll be gone soon, he’ll be able to put this all behind him. He’ll be able to keep Arthur and Mattie under constant surveillance, make sure they’ll be safe. He won’t let them get hurt like Russia’s sisters were. He won’t let anything happen to them. If he keeps an eye on them at all times, he’ll be one step ahead of the Communists, right? There’d be no need to worry. Everything would be fine.   
  
He laughs again.   
  
He starts walking again.  
  
This time, there is a hand on his neck. He feels the fingers press against his throat, feels the heat of another’s body. Hears the soft, accented whisper, “Why are you in my home, America?”  
  
Alfred holds absolutely still. Freezes. Doesn’t dare to breathe. Fingers squeeze, fingernails scrape against his throat, around his adam’s apple.  
  
“… Russia,” he whispers, refusing to show the fear that lingers at the pit of his belly. He has no reason to fear. He could win a fight against Ivan, right?  
  
“Why did you come here?” he asks again.  
  
“No reason,” Alfred says, swallowing around the fingers curled against his neck. He doesn’t dare move.  
  
“Truly,” Ivan whispers. “And here I thought you were corrupting my precious sisters with your ridiculous notions of grandeur.”  
  
“I don’t—”  
  
“You overestimate yourself. You underestimate my family. We are very happy, yes? You won’t ruin that.”  
  
Alfred is silent.  
  
“But… if you wanted my attentions so badly, _Alfred_ , you should have said so.”  
  
“I—”  
  
He is cut off by the squeeze of Ivan’s fingers. He closes in, mouth against his neck. He can feel the smile as he whispers, “And now you have it.”  
  
  
\---  
  
  
“Fuck – Fuck – Fuck – !” Alfred gasps out as Ivan fucks him up against the wall of the alley. His hands press against the cool brick. Ivan’s hand braces against his lower back as he pounds into him, movement sharp and harsh.  
  
But it feels good. Alfred hates himself for it. The other hand around his neck squeezes occasionally, and Alfred chokes. He falls silent, and he can feel Ivan smiling against the shell of his ear, pounding into him with physical violence that resonates throughout Alfred’s entire body.   
  
And, yes, this is what he wanted all along – this is what he longed for. All thoughts of protecting the others are gone – all thoughts of Ivan’s sisters are gone. The only thing he feels is Ivan – all of it.   
  
He stares at the wall, ignoring the painful bulk of Ivan’s cock and yet thriving in the sensation. He curses, growing louder until Ivan chokes to silence him. He swallows around that hand at his throat, shifts his hips back to meet the harsh pounding of Ivan’s body. His fingers curl against the brick, and he smiles just a little as he struggles to breathe.   
  
And he wants it. God, how he wants it.


End file.
